Memory of a Man
by Glock-N-Spiel
Summary: Jason's most recent encounter with Franco in August of 2010 forces him to make a decision that alters his life. Eighteen months later he has another decision to make.
1. Chapter 1

- Chapter 1 -

**August 10, 2010**

MOMA - Museum Of Modern Art  
>Los Angeles, California<p>

His body hurt.

It didn't matter what he moved. Pain seemed to shoot through every extremity. He could feel the heat, and hear the crackle of the fire. His ears still rang from the explosion. The layers of debris pinning him down made breathing difficult, made it painful. He knew he had to move, get out, but for once his body wouldn't cooperate.

Willing himself to move he slowly raised his arms to push at what was weighing him down. He was trying to remember what part of the museum he was in when the explosion thundered through the building. His head was throbbing so badly he could only concentrate on one thing at a time.

Letting out a loud grunt he was able to move some of the debris. Enough to drag himself out of the rubble. Crawling out from where he was buried he felt the heat from the fire, this time more intense. Flames licked up the walls devouring every thing in its path.

He was coughing hard, as he crawled over more rubble. Stopping when he saw a hand. He started pulling debris off the body, praying it wasn't some innocent by-stander. After moving several pieces away, he finally saw the face of the person he was trying to save. Only it was too late. Jason had no remorse for the lifeless man, as Franco's cold dead eyes stared back at him.

He started coughing again when another explosion rocked through the small exhibit room. Shielding himself from the falling debris caused by that last blast he continued to crawl his way to what he hoped was an exit. Finally reaching a door, he put his hand up to feel for heat. It felt cool. He pushed himself up to a standing position, or more of a bent position, and using his shoulder forced the door open.

Stepping out into what seemed to be an alley, he blinked several times, inhaling deeply as the fresh air hit his lungs. He started coughing again, as he tried to make his way out of the alley. Clinging to the wall he followed it towards the red and blue lights flashing in the blackness of the night. Hoping in all the confusion no one would notice him.

He stopped to catch his breath when a force out of nowhere knocked him down. Once again something was on top of him. Only what was on top of him wasn't very hard or heavy compared to what he had just escaped. That was until he felt the air go out of his lungs as pressure was applied to his chest by two small, but strong hands.

A deep groan rushed out of him along with the air as his eyes tried to focus on who was on top of him. His light blue eyes finally focused in on a pair of startled blue-gray ones, "Oh God! I'm so sorry," a lilting voice rang out.

"Could you," he grunted, "get off."

"Oh...yeah, so sorry," her voice a bit quieter as she climbed off him.

"Are you," taking a deep breath in between words, "okay?" Jason asked.

Looking at the battered man lying beside her, she wondered how he had the presence of mind to ask her if she was okay? "I think I should be asking you that," she said as he started to cough again.

"I'm okay," he told her as he moved his head to look at her. She was sitting on her knees next to him, breathing a little heavily. She pushed her dark hair out of her face and he could see smudges, and a few cuts, marked her face and throat. His eyes traveled over the rest of her and noticed her dress was torn and what looked like blood on her thigh.

Lifting his eyes back to hers, he watched her steel blue eyes as they seemed to do the same thing his did, and that was access his condition. As he watched her he realized she was the same woman that had warned him that Franco had planted a bomb.

He was about to ask her how she knew about it when they heard voices and saw flashlights headed their way. Trying to get up, he felt her hands once again on him as she wrapped them around his arm.

Finally reaching a standing position she took his arm and draped it over her shoulder and her other went around his waist. He was going to tell her no police, when she looked up at him, "My car is this way," and led them out of the alley the back way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Memory of a Man**

**- Chapter 2 - **

**April 18, 2012  
>The California Coast<strong>

His body absorbed the shock as his feet pounded across the sand. Sweat dripped from his face, down his neck and chest as the early morning sun beat down on him. The sound of the surf mixed with the beating of his heart, pounding in his ears.

Slowing his pace he continued down the deserted beach leaving impressions in the off white granules of the shore line. His heart slowing with his pace, he made his way across the sand to the small cottage he now called home.

Stopping on the deck, he kicked off his running shoes. Entering the bright one bedroom cottage the smell of fresh brewed coffee lingered in the air. A small smirk crossed his face. It was one of the few habits he allowed himself from a life that he seemed to have lived so long ago. His stocking feet made little noise crossing the slate floor on his way to grab a bottle of water, deciding to forgo the coffee until after his shower.

Making his way to the bathroom he placed the bottle on the counter. Discarding his running shorts, boxer briefs, and socks he stepped into the glass encased shower. Standing under the lukewarm stream, he closed his eyes thinking about the man he had become over the last eighteen month.

Stepping out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he placed his hands on the sink counter. Leaning in he stared at the man in the mirror, the man he was still learning about.

Gone were the electric blue eyes he was known for, in their place a pair of soft soulless brown contact lenses. His hair was no longer short and spiky. It was now parted down the middle falling just above his ears, and to his collar in the back. He had gone from being a dark blond to a light blond, an almost white yellow you'd find on a corn cob.

His physique had changed as well. The bulk he had amassed a few years ago was replaced with longer, leaner muscles. The only other physical change that was visible when fully dressed was a crescent shaped scar at the corner of his right eye.

Walking across the hall to his room, he pulled a pair of boxer briefs from his dresser. Not only had his physical looks changed, but so had his wardrobe. His jeans and t-shirt were no more. Replaced by dress slacks, or khakis, a polo, or a casual button down shirt, and when the occasion called for one, a suit.

The motorcycle boots no longer a part of his ensemble, instead he wore loafers, sneakers, or every once in a while flip flops.

Pulling on a pair of khakis, and a navy blue polo he headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Once poured, he sat at the breakfast bar to read the paper. Reaching for his glasses he began reading the front page.

It had taken him three months to get comfortable with his new persona before going out in public. It wasn't just the physical changes, or the change in wardrobe, but the little things. Every thing about him had to change.

He still drank coffee, but now instead of black, he used cream. He was now a lefty, wore glasses and spoke with a slight German accent. Every little mannerism that he use to do, he no longer did. No more pinching the bridge of his nose, or running his hand across the back of his neck. No more standing with his arms crossed in that uninterested stance he use to take, or with his hands on his hips. Anything that could link him to the man he once was, was no longer visible.

For the second time in his life, out of necessity, he became a new man. Only this time he had all the memories of his former self. He was no longer mob enforcer, Jason Morgan. Now, he was Conrad Maier, finder of lost things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Memory of a Man**

**- Chapter 3 -**

**August 10, 2010  
>Los Angeles California<strong>

She paused with her hand on the handle of her X5 wondering what the hell she was doing. What had compelled her to help this man, twice. Shaking her head she blew out a deep breath. Opening her door, she slid in behind the steering wheel. Glancing at the dark blond she realized just how bad his condition was.

Putting the key in the ignition she felt his hand grab her arm. Turning to look at him she saw his head was lolled to the side. His sky blue eyes looked glassy, and his hand was burning up.

"No hospital," He rasped out as he started coughing again.

"Ok, no hospital," starting the engine she did a quick check to make sure no one was around, "but you need medical attention. I know someone who can help. Do you trust me," _trust me,_she repeated in her head. It was something she had a very hard time doing herself, and yet she was asking this man to do it.

Her eyes were locked with his glassed over ones as she tried to search for his answer, "I don't have much of a choice," he managed to get out through the pain.

"No, I guess you don't," She mumbled, pulling her BMW on to the road, she headed east towards the highway. She just hoped he didn't bleed out in the time it took them to get the help he needed. The towel she had given him from the back was already becoming soaked.

Her Blue Tooth device securely in her ear she waited patiently for an answer on the other end. Breathing a sigh of relief at the sound of the scratchy voice she talked quietly, "Hey Doc. It's me... I need your help... No, I'm fine... really, it's," pausing she glanced again at the stranger next to her, "for a friend... he doesn't look good Doc... yeah, no I'll be careful... will be there within the hour... ok, thanks," hanging up she said a little prayer, hoping she was doing the right thing.

She had been doing about 75 mph the entire ride, trying not to do more than five miles over the speed limit so she wouldn't get pulled over. That was the last thing they needed. Kind of hard to explain to the cops why a man was bleeding all over your car.

His labored breathing had been deafening in the quiet SUV, but it was the only thing telling her that he was still with her. She'd barely had any time to assess his injures back in the alley. She could tell he was bleeding from his side, and that he had a pretty nasty gash in his left leg. Like her, he had some cuts and abrasions on his face, as well as his arms. The only thing she didn't know was if he and any internal injuries. And that worried her the most.

She was trying to think of how to explain the situation to Doc when she heard his rough voice, "Where are we going?"

Trying not to show that he startled her she answered, "Um, to a friend of mine. He's a retired doctor, so he won't have to report anything, if you're worried about that."

He didn't responded, and she figured he's passed out again, until she heard a faint, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Although, I'm going to have to tell Doc something. He's pretty protective of me and I can't walk in there not knowing something about you, other than you tangled with Franco, and seem to have won," she grinned.

Coughing again he croaked out, "Jason... Morgan," grimacing he tried to get more comfortable in his seat.

Shaking her head she couldn't believe her luck. _I thought I'd finally left this kind of trouble behind,_"So Jason, who should I worry about more, the cops, or your mob buddies."

**April 18, 2012  
>The California Coast<strong>

It was an unusually warm April day in San Clemente, which brought out more early morning surfers than usual. The beach was dotted with them this morning as he watched from his floor to ceiling windows, drinking his coffee.

He scanned the beach, as well as the ocean for anything out of the ordinary. Knowing his surroundings was one habit he would not give up from his old life. Even in his new line of work he dealt with some not so upstanding people. People that didn't like it when you took something from them that they thought was theirs.

His brow knitted as he thought a moment about his former life, and the people he left behind. With a few blinks of his eye the moment was gone, and a smirk, along with the shake of his head reminded him that it didn't matter anymore. He had stayed dead to protect them.

Who would have thought he'd have that psycho Franco to thank for his new life.

"_Jason, Jason," Franco sneered, "I'm going to teach you to embrace your art, my friend." He looked over at the body under the tarp._

"I am nothing like you," Jason bit out angrily, "killing is not an art! It's a crime and you're just a sick..."

Franco laughed, "It is an art and you are a master, but I'll make you better," he whispered as he watched the drug he'd given to Jason start to take effect.

Jason started to feel strange and his body was starting to feel heavy. He looked down at the picture he was holding and then back up at his nemesis, "What did you do? What did you give me?"

The artist looked at the Enforcer, "The picture," he swung his gloved hand around, "in fact my entire exhibit has been painted with a paralyzing compound. Don't worry, it will wear off in a short time." He approached and leaned into Jason, "But everyone will think you're dead," he laughed softly, "and then I can work on making you even better than you are. You will become the greatest kill artist that ever lived."

The last thing he remembered was lunging for the artist and then waking up covered in rubble.

He could admit that it was better this way for everyone back home. The identification was made quickly, and it allowed everyone to grieve and move on. If there hadn't been a body found, it would've just caused them to search for him, and to hold on to hope that he was still alive.

At times it was hard to think about his former life. After all, he was only human, even though most thought he was like a robot, with no emotion at all. It was quite the opposite. He could feel deeply. He had just learned to bury it.

The thoughts of his past life faded as he watched the long svelte figure approach the cottage. Surf board tucked under her arm, water droplets glistening off her dark mahogany hair and down her wet suit. A broad smile lit her face. He had no doubt she was thinking about how to get him back for sending her to Denver and getting caught in a late spring snow storm.

Her smile grew when she saw him standing in the window, always on guard for anything out of the ordinary. A lot had changed about the man over the last eighteen months, but beneath all the changes the core of him was still the same, as she suspected it always had been.

Making her way up the few steps of his deck, she leaned her board against the side of the cottage. Taking the small towel that hung on the plant stand, she brushed the sand from her feet.

Opening the French doors, she strolled in, "Hey, handsome."

Jason didn't turn to look at her as she headed for the kitchen, "Morning, Beautiful."

Rolling her eyes she reached in the fridge for her morning caffeine, "See anything," her silky voice flitted through the cottage.

"Nothing, you," he replied turning at the sound of a soda can being opened.

"Nope. Nothing," she poured the contents of her can in a glass and looked across the breakfast bar at his amused face, "what?"

"Didn't say a thing," shaking his head, he took another sip of his coffee.

"Yeah, well my morning cola can't be any worse than that swill you drink. Besides it's my only bad habit," smiling she took a drink of the fizzy liquid, walking toward him. Turning she presented her back to him, as she flipped her wet hair to the side, flinging water at him as she did.

"Only bad habit," he chuckled as his long tan fingers unzipped her wet suit.

Walking to the bathroom she tossed over her shoulder, "Yeah, yeah, so I have more than one."

He fished around in the refrigerator for something to make, when he heard the shower. As he closed the door he counted to himself, one, two, three, four, five... then he heard it.

Singing.

She wasn't bad, but then he'd never heard her outside of the shower. He would catch her humming once in a while, but singing she seemed to reserve just for the shower.

Somehow her singing in the shower this morning was causing him to entertain thoughts that he shouldn't. Clearing those thoughts out of his mind he went to work on breakfast. But the sound of the shower, and her lilting voice kept the woman that had become a permanent fixture in his life planted firmly in his mind.

Jason reflected on the dark red haired woman in his shower, and how similar their lives were before they met. Both had lost their families when they were young. Even though his family was still alive, he didn't have the connection with them that Jason Quartermaine had.

She lost hers at sixteen. Her father went to jail for embezzlement from his own company and tax evasion. Her mother, decided to take the easy way out, and committed suicide.

So at the ages of sixteen and twenty-two they were alone. Both turning to people that showed some interested in them, but in the end they learned that they couldn't really trust.

Jason grimaced at the thought of her at sixteen traveling all over Europe, alone. Actually, she'd been accompanied by someone who didn't exactly have her best interests in mind. Who taught her things that could land her in less than desirable situations. And that's as good as being alone.

Then a small smile formed as he thought about something she once said, 'by twenty five I somehow managed to become the modern day version of Indiana Jones.' His grin broadened as he thought how she turned a unique skill set into a career. Sometimes she still dabbled in that less than ethical side of her work to get the job done, it made her a lot of money, kept her in the game that she loved, and he already knew she wouldn't change a thing about her life.

The thirty-two year old beauty tied the ultra plush, coral bathrobe around her as she walked out of the bathroom towel drying her hair. The smell of bacon wafted through the air as she plopped down on one of the bar stools. She smiled at the sexy man that had become her best friend.

She'd never had anyone in her life quite like him. And after what happened with her parents, she didn't trust so easily. The one person she'd thought she could trust, turned his back on her, and along the way she learned to trust very few people. This man had become one of those few she could trust.

"Mm, my favorite," She cooed, when he set a plate down in front of her with an egg white omelet filled with Roma tomatoes, red peppers, green onions, and Fontina cheese, accompanied by the bacon she'd smelled, and a glass of orange juice.

"Not eating," she needled, taking a bite of her omelet.

"I had planned on it," he retorted, a piece of bacon in hand, "you know Sullivan – you do have your own place."

"Ooh, so it's 'Sullivan' today is it," she cracked, taking another bite, "someone's cranky."

Shaking his headed he ignored her. Turning toward the counter he refilled his coffee.

"You know," she said around a bite of food, "you miss me on the mornings I'm not here."

Smirking he walked around the island stopping next to her. She turned to face him giving him a cheeky smile. Leaning in with a detached look, but mirth in his voice, "Yes, Darcy, I so miss you tracking water across my floor, as well as, running up my water bill, and eating all my food," his breath tickling the side of her neck.

Giggling at the tickling sensation he caused, she pushed him away. But not before a shudder of pleasure raced through her body. She hated when he did that to her. Really she hated when, on that rare occasion, she couldn't control her reaction to him.

They had an unspoken agreement that they would never cross that line. That they would just be friends. The very best of friends, but nothing more. Both didn't want the complication, and so far it was working.

Yet on mornings like today, for just a fleeting moment, she'd look at him and wished they could have more. Then it would pass as quickly as it came. Knowing that they were exactly where they needed to be in each other's lives. They might not have the physical intimacy that normal couples had, but they had something that most didn't. They had emotional intimacy, and trust.

She watched him as he made his way back to the window. His body tense as apprehension rolled off him. Apprehension, she assumed for their current job.

A job that had taken them around the world, but now would bring him face to face with his past.


End file.
